


Only Against My Will

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 04:47:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3637272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: root x Shaw prompt- Shaw is 100% whipped, but she doesn't even notice. every time root gives her those big doe eyes and her lower lip pouts, she can't really not do what root asks. she says no, but ends up doing whatever anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Against My Will

A round house kick, a jab to the Solar Plexus, a clap against the ears, a left hook. With the skill only an assassin can acquire, Sameen Shaw jumps around on nimble feet. Whichever perpetrator dares come closer than the rest is beaten savagely until he retreats. She’s surrounded, every side blocked by a man, two bodies deep. She’s in the center of a ring, their personal punching bag.  _Only, it’s not so easy… for them,_  Shaw thinks, a small smirk coming to her adrenaline pumped face. All of her is hot like a live wire, her reflexes enhanced and evolved compared to the men around her. Another dares to come closer, and Shaw comes to strike.

She lurches forward, fist connecting with a protective forearm, other hand matched by another defensive move. He swings, she ducks and gets three quick blows to his abdomen. From behind her, two arms wrap around her waist, pulling her back. A fist connects to her jaw, and her head is whipped to the left. She kicks her feet forward, unable to touch the ground, and her heel connects with someone’s neck. They screech and drop to the ground. A fist hits her like a bullet in the stomach, and her breath leaves in a ‘woosh.’

* * *

 

_Where the hell is Reese_ , Shaw thinks with haze, lights fading in and out with the lack of oxygen reaching her brain. She thinks of the day- it was a long one. An uncooperative number she had to chase for blocks, tackle, hold against their flailing will every second after. She had to go through nearly two clips of ammo to keep the people after him at bay until she could vanish from the grid. Listen to the number scream at her, swear at her, call for the right to a lawyer.  _‘_ This isn’t the justice system, _pal_ ,’ she remembers telling him angrily, head throbbing. Reese came to take him to a police issued safe house- six hours later. ‘You owe me big time,’ she’d sneered at him. He’d promised her all she could eat at the diner down the road as soon as their number was safe. _I was stupid_ , Shaw thinks to herself, sucking in a large breath as she kicks down another operative. The man holding her shakes her angrily, trying to disorient her. Walking down the street, gun nearly empty, there was someone being mugged in the alleyway one store shy of the diner. She walked down the alley, reaching for her gun, ready to protect the victim. Only  _she_  was the victim.  _No, I’m not a victim_ , she thinks to herself hostilely, _it was just a clever rouse_. For as soon as she made it to the man getting mugged, men poured from the shadows to cover her on every side. _In hindsight,_  she tells herself bitterly, _it all reeked of Samaritan._ She’d fired three bullets, each hitting their mark precisely. Then, the gun was empty. She’d used the gun itself as a weapon until someone smacked it from her grasp- now it was just a hand to hand combat.

Taking her hands from the man’s forearms, she reaches back, gropes for a hold on his face, then presses her thumbs forcefully into his eye sockets. He yelps, dropping her to grab at his eyes. The hounds descend. Fists fly, kicks are delivered, still Shaw continues to plow through viciously. Teeth bared, eyes in slits, she ignores the blood pouring from her nose. Their man power is cut down a quarter- and only a quarter. There are gunshots, and four bodies drop from behind her. Turning her head, she sees the steel face of John Reese as he stands, body solid and firm, and fires into the gang of men. Shaw drops low, keeping herself out of the line of fire as John picks the unarmed men off easily. The remaining few start to run, scrambling like ants to escape- he shoots at their knees and watches them fall, expression never changing.

As Sameen stands back up, John jogs over to her, putting his gun back in the holster. Putting a hand on either side of her arms, he stoops his head to look her in the eyes. His own show concern. “Shaw, you alright?”

Shaw smiles, feeling the metallic stickiness of blood on her teeth. “Never better,” she replies. “Are we getting something to eat?”

John, looking around, wraps one of his hands around her upper arm and starts to pull her away from the scene. “There’s been a change of plans,” he tells her, eyes not coming to hers. “We’re going back to the subway.”

___________________\ If your Number’s Up /___________________

On the half walk, half drag back to their headquarters, Shaw starts feeling the effects of the fight. Adrenaline receding, she is overcome with utter fatigue. Her bones hurt, nose hurts, eyes hurt- everything pulses in the dull throb of pain. She runs her tongue along her top set of teeth, tasting the blood on them with slight disgust. The two travel down the stairs, past dark and deserted ramparts, and into their not-so-wonderfully lit subway terminal. Harold looks up from his computer; his face instantly overcome with mortification. In stunned silence, he stands.

"Miss. Shaw…" his voice trails off, still at a loss for words. Turning, he grabs a first aid kit from within the subway car, then meets Shaw and John at their metal bench. He starts to open it, but Shaw pushes his hands away.

"I can do it myself, Harold," she spits, her exhaustion putting a harsh sneer in her voice. There, she works on her bumps and bruises. She wipes down her forearms with disinfectant wipes, feeling the sting of it as small pieces of gravel pull out from her raw skin. She brings a tissue to her nose, then tilts her head forward, pinching at the bridge. A few minutes pass, and the bleeding finally stops. Her fingers trail down her nose, feeling it make a quick detour to the left. Gritting her teeth, she pushes on it, and it crackles as it straightens. With a pained sigh, she drops her hands, head limp, drooping forward. Looking to her left, she sees a water bottle and bowl. Gratefully, she takes a swig of the water, swishing it back and forth in her mouth, then spits into the bowl. A watery red swirls within. She continues the motion, getting into a rhythm, until the red turns to pink, and the pink fades to clear. Satisfied, she puts the bowl back down, and stands. Her muscles groan, back cracking from sore tension, and her eyes unfocus. She grunts, then allows herself to steady before walking to the subway car; she grabs her jacket with tender fingers, then slowly eases it on over her wounds. Bottom lip tight, she brings tentative fingers to it, feeling it begin to scab.

There is a rambunctious clatter from the entrance to their terminal, and all three turn to look for the source. Shaw sees Root first. Face smug, eyes rolling with amusement, hair bouncing on smooth shoulders. She wears a tight dress and light, black jacket. Her eyes meet Shaw’s, and she smiles as a brightness overtakes her features.

"Hey, Sweetie, how was your day?" She asks with slight delight in her voice.

” _Sucked_.” Shaw spits back, but a small smile creeps onto her face. “Yours?”

"Nothin’ but trouble," Lionel Fusco’s frustrated voice comes from the shadows, met by an equally unsettling face. "I had to arrest her twice.  _Twice._ " He fumes, walking her forward. Shaw realizes now how Root’s hands are behind her back, Fusco’s hand roughly on her shoulder.

"Were the handcuffs  _really_  necessary, Lionel?” John voices Shaw’s own thoughts, only in kinder terms.

"What else was I gonna do?" he shoots back hostilely, temper roaring. "I’m supposed to be taking  _her_ back to the station.” Lionel releases his hold on Root’s shoulder, stopping at the bench, while Root continues to walk forward, eyes trained on Shaw.

Once in front of her, Root brings her hands around to lay them on Shaw’s shoulders. One wrist has a pair of handcuffs dangling from them. Shaw feels her shoulders scream from pain, but she doesn’t remove herself from Root’s lackadaisical hold.

"Only getting  _one_ hand free?” Shaw questions, referring to the cuffs. “Are you out of practice?”

Root gives her a dark smile and provocative eyes. “No, just saving  them for later.”

Shaw rolls her eyes, face scrunching to an annoyed sneer. She stops half-way, nose groaning from pain.

"If  _that’s_  why you still have them,” Lionel calls gruffly from behind, “then I don’t want ‘em back.” Shaw looks past Root, giving him a deadly glare, but Root merely laughs.

"Do you wanna get out of here?" Root asks, returning her hands back to her sides. Easily, she unlatches the second cuff, but- to Lionel’s dismay- stores them in her back pocket.

"And do what?" Shaw returns, trying to keep the fatigue from her voice, swallowing the yawn in her throat.

"Grab something to eat, walk around…" Root trails off, waiting for a comment or reply. Shaw’s face is neutral, but her brain hits rock bottom within.  _Walk?_  her head whines, and she can feel the ache in her feet.

"Not really," Shaw replies nonchalantly. Instantly, Root’s face droops. Her eyes are large, showing a full array of disappointment, and her bottom lip protrudes out. Shaw can’t take it, clamping her teeth down tight. With gritted teeth, she declines again, more to ensure herself than Root. " _No._ ”

” _Please, Sameen?_ " Root asks bringing one of her hands to the side of Shaw’s face. Her voice edging a plead; Shaw can’t stand that her heart starts to melt.

"Uh, Miss. Groves," Harold starts from behind Shaw, filling in for her prolonged silence. "She has had quite a long d-"

"Fine." Shaw cuts through Harold’s sentence, and Root’s face instantly perks back up to her normal self.

"But don’t you think you should-" Shaw sends Harold a murderous glare, and he falls silent.

"I’ll. Be.  _Fine_.” she retorts, then turns back to Root. Her voice is much lighter now than with Harold. “Are we going anywhere good? I’m starving.”

The two start to walk, and Detective Fusco watches Shaw with disbelieving eyes. “What happened  _there?!_ " He fumes, much to the enjoyment of John. "I can’t so much as get her to clear her  _food wrappers_  from my car, but Cuckoo Clock over here asks for a night on the streets and  _wins?_ ”

"It’s the Bambi eyes," John informs him with small smile on his charming face; his icy blue eyes glint with mirth.

"Bambi eyes," Fusco exclaims with a huff. Pointing to himself indignantly, he says, " _I_ can do _Bambi eyes_  too, ya know.”

"You so much as try," Shaw calls from the entrance of the station, "and I’ll shoot you."

___________\ We’ll Find You /___________

 _Why do I let her do this?_  Shaw thinks with exasperation as she walks down the mild-temperature street; Root to her right.  _How much does she give me that look?_  A lot. _And how many have I turned down?_  None. Bristling slightly at the thought, they walk into a brightly lit pizza parlor off of forty-second street. Instantly, Shaw’s frustration is replaced with the aroma of fresh baked crust and tomato sauce. Root, watching Shaw shift out of serious-mode, smiles affectionately, then sits at a table just in front of the window. They order, then wait as the man behind the open counter begins to make the pie. Looking out, Root sees people hustling up and down the sidewalks and cars are nothing more than colored flashes. With a content sigh, Root looks back to Shaw, and sees she is slowly dozing off in her seat. Root smirks, eyes alight with doting admiration, watching Shaw’s head slowly start to droop downwards.

"Sam?" Root calls to her sweetly, bringing a hand across their small table to shake her shoulder. Instinctively, Shaw’s hand shoots out and grabs Root’s wrist forcefully. Realizing where she is, and with whom, Shaw instantly drops her hand. "You okay?"

"Yeah, Root, fine." Shaw replies, head resting on the palm of her hand as she looks out the window. Her sleeve slides down, and instantly Root’s eyes bulge.

"What  _happened_  to you?” Root asks fretfully, eyes glued to the mauled skin on Shaw’s forearm. Shaw peers down to see what Root is looking at, then takes her arm from the table, placing it in her lap.

"Fell on the job." Root gives her a stern look, eyes swimming in worry. Shaw crosses her arms in annoyance, then clicks her teeth. "Jumped by men in snappy suits," Shaw divulges sourly. "Probably Samaritan. Can’t be sure."

"Why didn’t you  _tell_  me?” Root hisses. Shaw shrugs.

"It’s nothing serious."

"Nothing  _serious?_ " Root’s hushed voice hits an octave of hysteria. "A scraped  _knee_  is nothing serious,  _th_ \- what else happened.” A man in a white hat and apron comes to a stop beside them. Realizing how far she is hunched over the table, Root sits back up straight, eyes smoldering at Shaw. He places down the pizza, and they thank him, yet their eyes never leave each other.

"You didn’t have to come if you-" Root stops, then gestures to Shaw. "if  _that_ happened. You could’ve said no.”

"I  _did_ ,” Shaw says with a wicked smile as she takes a scorching slice of pizza from the tray. Root bites her lip. “But I would have come anyway.” Root’s brow furrows.

"Why?"

"Well, b’cause," Shaw says, chewing, "there’s food." Root laughs a little, but the guilt in her heart drowns out any sense of humor. "And besides," Shaw says, seeing Root’s downcast expression, "get to hang out with you for a while." A smile spreads across Root’s face, and Shaw takes another bite, split lip re-tearing. A slow drop of blood forms, and Shaw quickly swipes it away.

"So…" Root starts, grabbing a slice for herself, "…does this happen often?"

"Watcha mean?"

Root gives her a look. “Where you’re tired and out of it, but you stay up doing who knows  _what_  with  _me_  all night.”

Shaw gives a humorous chuckle, topping off her second slice of pizza. With a smirk, she replies, “Only when you do that  _pitiful_  Bambi thing with your eyes.”


End file.
